


Hiraeth

by Alphabees



Series: Words Less Spoken By [4]
Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, BACK ON MY BULLSHIT, CW in the opening notes, Dalton Academy, KBWeek 2020, Kurtbastian Week, M/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27529354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphabees/pseuds/Alphabees
Summary: Hiraeth - A homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.[For KBWeek 2020 - Angst]
Relationships: Kurt Hummel/Sebastian Smythe
Series: Words Less Spoken By [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587718
Comments: 10
Kudos: 58
Collections: Kurtbastian Week 2020





	Hiraeth

**Author's Note:**

> Hell folks! Nothing super graphic in this update, but I feel obliged to let you know - scroll past if you're not good with spoilers - that this instalment contains a depiction of a panic attack, so if that's a concern, keep it in mind!

Is it possible to get de ja vu in a place you’ve never really been before? 

When Sebastian transferred to Dalton, he (or rather, his father) was greeted so eagerly by the principal that he didn’t get a chance to take in the reception. Apparently now that he’s not accompanied by anybody with an ass worth kissing (metaphorically) he has to wait before he’s invited into the office.

It makes sense, really. There are parents to call, lawsuit threats to mitigate…

_...No _ . Somehow, wisecracking about the situation in his head isn’t making Sebastian feel any better. 

The fact of the matter is, he’s fucked up.

Again.

There’s a cognitive dissonance between this, and the last time he was called to a principal’s office. This time, it really is his fault. With any luck, it’ll be a full reversal of that last time, and he  _ won’t  _ be blamed for the incident.

(It seems unlikely, but he has to hold out hope. There’s nowhere else for him to go this time. Maybe that’s a good thing.)

He should quit whining. There are two people in the nurse’s office dealing with actual injuries. Sebastian is the one who caused them. 

Dalton has a zero-tolerance bullying policy. He hasn’t been a saint since he arrived at Dalton, but it’s still going to be an ironic twist of the knife when he’s the one who faces the brunt of it. That was how they lured him in.

It shouldn’t be an issue really, because Dalton still isn’t his home. Ohio isn’t his home. Nowhere on the entire damn continent could be considered his home - leaving was always his goal. He just hadn’t expected it to feel so possible so soon. Not before he could confirm a place waiting for him to go home to.

(His mom still isn’t returning his calls. She’ll get there. It’s been a busy few months.)

His head is suddenly a flurry of calculations. He’s not quite 18 yet, but there’s not long to go - if he’s remembering correctly, that’s when he can legally sign his own lease in France. He’s still barely touched the obnoxiously generous allowance from his father. When he takes into account the expenses of a last-minute flight, if he finds the cheapest hotel the city has to offer and lives on the little mints they leave on the pillows…

“Sebastian?”

He freezes when he recognises the voice. Slowly, he looks up, and sure enough his worst fear is confirmed.

(It’s hyperbole - he’s not scared of Kurt Hummel, or how much he cares about what Kurt Hummel thinks of him. Because he doesn’t care about what Kurt thinks of him, period.)

Kurt looks as uncomfortable as Sebastian feels, right down to the shame of it all - which makes no sense. Immediately he overthinks it, because that’s just the state he’s in right now.

“If you’re here to testify against me on Blaine’s behalf like we’re all in the 3rd grade, save it.”

Kurt slowly lowers himself into a seat, leaving one between him and Sebastian. Close, but not in Sebastian’s space. Wary. Cautious. Maybe even scared. Before Sebastian can drop a snarky comment about how he’s not in a punching mood anymore, Kurt replies.

“Shockingly, I came here as a whole individual person. I’ve got free will and everything,” he says, clearly tired of people insinuating otherwise. Despite himself, Sebastian has the decency to feel a pang of guilt for doing so. The obvious question still lingers between them, and Kurt needs no prompting to answer it. “Thad had some… strange things to say.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Sebastian mutters, refusing to look at Kurt head-on. He keeps him in his periphery, enough to be safe, but not obvious.

(That’s all he can take right now.)

It’s plenty for Sebastian to see that Kurt is fidgeting, shifting in his seat, tangling and untangling his fingers together. He wants to be asked.

The least Sebastian can do is oblige, even if he does it with a sigh. “What strange things?”

When he doesn’t get an immediate answer, Sebastian slips a little deeper into his exasperation. He’s done with existing today, let alone pussyfooting around a conversation he doesn’t even want to have. “I can’t do anything about it if I don’t know what it is, Kurt,” Sebastian says, like his voice is about to snap.

“He thinks you’re in love with me,” Kurt answers. Only when Sebastian’s neck practically snaps itself to face him does he have the wherewithal to add “his words -  _ not _ mine.”

This does little to comfort Sebastian, who was already on edge.

(He’s worried that people think he has feelings, period - whether or not those feelings are for Kurt is irrelevant. But they aren’t.)

So he scoffs, he furrows his brows, he forces out a humourless imitation of a laugh. “Why would he think that?”

“I don’t know-- I was hoping you could tell me?”

“What, so you think I--”

“No! God, no,  _ never _ ,” Kurt interjects, and Sebastian relaxes. Almost.

(The words relieve. The inflection stings.)

Sebastian nods. He looks away again, down at his hands in his lap, and wonders if that was all Kurt came for - just to be as sure as him that there’s nothing there. The silence grows with Sebastian’s anxiety. He isn’t sure what he fears more.

(Being alone? Being observed?)

“I’m not an idiot, you know,” Kurt says, just as Sebastian’s about to get completely lost in his own head. Again, he keeps Kurt in the corner of his eye, but even then he knows Kurt’s gaze is searching. Sebastian wishes he would just ask - but no. He has to be kind, and decent, and gentle. Like an asshole. “All of that… had something to do with me, didn’t it?”

“Well, Kurt, as much as I can appreciate some good old fashioned narcissism--”

“I’m not an idiot, Sebastian,” Kurt repeats. His voice, somehow, is still kind. Still decent, still gentle. It’s aggravating. (It’s terrifying.) “The nurse’s office is more like a nursery right now - they’re both too busy being babied to give me any real answers. “Thad and Blaine aren’t exactly interrogation-ready.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightens at the word. Interrogation. Isn’t he already about to take one of those from the principal? Does Kurt think he’s doing him a favour by putting him through a dry run?

Kurt seems to sense it was a poor word choice.

“I just want to know the truth.”

“And you think you’ll get that from me?” 

They both know that’s not the real question he’s asking. Why would Kurt trust him? All it takes is one squint at his blazer’s sleeve to realise he’s still got a splash of Blaine’s blood on him, tinging the fabric over his wrist one shade darker.

“You were there, weren’t you?” Kurt asks, as if they’re talking about a party that got a little messy. As if, when this is over, Dalton won’t be just one more place where his name is either a curse or a laughingstock. It’s not like he’ll stick around long enough to find out. 

It’s absurd. Maybe that’s why he answers.

He tells Kurt an abridged, safe version. It’s the bare minimum - he overheard Thad saying something homophobic, and as he says this to Kurt, he pretends to be surprised by it. Kurt, for some reason, doesn’t look like he’s buying it. It wasn’t directed at him, but he still didn’t like it. He overreacted, he says - he meddled like an idiot, interjected himself into other people’s business, how stupid is that? He doesn’t go to the extent of quoting himself, or Thad, but he makes it clear that he got close enough for Thad to push him, and he wasn’t thinking about the furniture when he pushed back. Sebastian didn’t think anything worse than a bruise would come of it, but all the yelling drew in a crowd before he could figure that out. Then Blaine charged in - and he barely remembers that part. 

Just the thrumming of his own heartbeat in his ears, the rush of his own pulse and a hand reaching, too close and too fast, and he just wanted to feel safe. That’s all he wants.

(He doesn’t tell Kurt that part. He makes it sound like one big burst of frustration, with no motivation more complex than his own asshole tendencies. There’s an element of truth there, so he doesn’t need to feel bad about lying.  _ And yet. _ )

Kurt is quiet. Pensive. It’s a strange sequence to process, but by the time he’s done, he looks defeated. “He was talking about me, wasn’t he? Thad. When it all started.”

Sebastian side-eyes him, apprehensive and calculating. Kurt speaks with all the conviction of somebody who already knows the answer to that question, and yet he expects Sebastian to break it to him. He doesn’t want to hurt his feelings-- it’s nothing deep, he’s just not in the mood.

“Just tell me, Sebastian.”

“Yes,” he answers. The following sigh from Kurt is bitter, and relieved. There’s no surprise to it - it’s a disappointment he’s been bracing for. Sebastian just wishes he didn’t have to be the one to deliver it.

He doesn’t have to like Kurt to know he deserves better than sneaky, back-handed bigotry.

“Thank you.”

Sebastian doesn’t know how to feel about that. It sounds cathartic, but he knows he’s the last person deserving of gratitude right now. Even if he wasn’t - telling Kurt that one of the most influential Warblers makes a habit of shit-talking him hardly warrants gratitude.

(And yet, he feels good for hearing it. Like he’s helped to grant him some resolution, put some long-standing worries to rest. He shouldn’t care. He doesn’t.)

The mixed feelings make Sebastian itch. Kurt’s just sitting there, looking at him, like he’s expecting something more. It’s too much.

“Isn’t your boyfriend waiting for you?” he asks, just to bare his fangs. Clearly, he needs a reminder that they’re not on the right terms for friendly chit-chat. Not right now.

Kurt’s expression sours, like Sebastian’s just shoved a lemon wedge past his lips. It can’t possibly be the first time he’s heard it - Sebastian wasn’t around when Kurt transferred last year, but everybody knows he and Blaine have been attached at the hip this whole time. He can’t shake the impression that something happened there, but he has to anyway - he’s not getting involved in Kurt’s business anymore.

“Sebastian,” Kurt begins, terse and chastising - he’s holding something back. “Clearly sincerity doesn’t come naturally to you, but I promise you, if you push away the people who stick up for you--”

“What people?” Sebastian spits. He sneers, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard, and he’s loud enough to startle Kurt. When the alarm fades Kurt looks at him with something alarmingly close to  _ pity.  _ He can’t let that fester - he needs their old hostility back. “ _ You? _ Don’t kid yourself. I’m not here for you to mine your saintly karma points. I don’t know what you expect to get out of this, but I don’t owe it to you.”

The pity doesn’t fade. Sebastian squirms.

“First of all… I don’t have some kind of ulterior motive. Look-- we can dance around it all you like, but you stuck up for me back there. I know any self-respecting gay person probably would have, and it had nothing to do with me - but you did me a solid,” Kurt explains, so calm and empathetic that it makes Sebastian nauseous. “Even if you hadn’t, and it had been some other guy you stood up for…”

Kurt pauses. He looks…  _ guilty.  _ Sebastian can’t figure him out.

“I assumed you hurt them on purpose. I wasn’t sure about Blaine, but I overheard Thad talking to the nurse - nobody could’ve planned it,” he says, so decisively that there’s no room to deny it. Sebastian needs something to latch onto, something he can twist to make this barrage end. “So I suppose I wanted to apologise. But, more than that… I knew you’d be sitting here, waiting, all alone. You’re always alone.”

Sebastian grips at the edge of his seat, just to give himself something to focus on. “What are you talking about?” he asks - firm in his dismissal. “I’m in two clubs, one of which you’re also in - there’s nowhere to go in this damn school where you’re not surrounded by people.”

Kurt has the audacity to smile, as though he understands something Sebastian isn’t saying. 

“It’s very easy to be on a team and feel like you don’t really belong there,” he replies, with a slight shrug. This is all old news to Kurt. Sebastian feels cornered. “Besides - I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with any of the lacrosse guys in your free time, and you only really bother with the Warblers when they ask for dance tips.”

Sebastian is on the brink of falling apart. Kurt saw one loose thread and pulled, as if he had permission to get anywhere near Sebastian at all. Like there’s nothing to it - unravelling everything he’s trying to be with one little tug is just a crossed off item on his to-do list now.

All he can do is suck in each breath, push it back out, and wait for the torment to end.

“I hear you haven’t even unpacked yet.”

“Fucking Nick,” Sebastian mutters, the words growing acrid on his tongue. All because he borrowed a set of notes. “I knew it-- I shouldn’t have asked. That’s what the library’s for--”

“Sebastian…” Kurt shakes his head slowly, in disbelief. Sebastian’s heart is pounding now, his blood is rushing through him too quickly for it to work properly, he isn’t working properly, his lungs are tight and his vision blurs at its edges. Is he breathing too loud? He must be breathing too loud because he’s there, Kurt’s  _ still  _ there, watching and looking and judging, scrutinising, pushing white hot shame into his gut and Sebastian  _ can’t breathe.  _

Kurt says something else, about how asking for help isn’t the problem but he’s barely aware of that, it’s just the moving of his lips and the pity, still, so much pity. 

“Does it matter, Kurt? Does any of this fucking matter?” He asks, close to boiling point - he must be, there’s something burning inside him, a high pitched piercing whistle, so close to spilling over, to splitting his head wide open. “I’m going to-- they’re going to kick me out. It won’t matter.”

Sebastian can’t look at Kurt, but now he can hear him when he asks, “what makes you so sure?” It sounds like he’s trying to make him feel better. It doesn’t work.

“That’s just what happens, that’s what fucking happens. Things start going well, and then I fuck it up, and then I’m--” his breath catches, like he’s choking on it. “I’m  _ gone _ .”

It’s exactly the same thing. Over, and over, and over-- but it’s stupid. He doesn’t want to stay. He’s not going to stay.

Sebastian can’t tell what he’s saying out loud any more. He’s dizzy. His shoulders jolt, and he looks up - Kurt’s shaking them.

“Sebastian? Sebastian,” Kurt says, urgent and clipped. His voice is tight - Sebastian wonders if Kurt can feel the hand around his throat, too. “I want you to watch me, okay? Just watch me,” he pleads, and Sebastian doesn’t have the wherewithal to do much else.

Kurt breathes.

It takes a while - Sebastian isn’t sure how long - to register, but there’s this slow, calculated rhythm to it. He keeps it up, his eyes wide, patient, and blue enough to become a distraction at some point. It’s something that feels real, and so Sebastian clings to it, trying to follow the rhythm. It takes a while of grappling with the ache in his chest and the fearful jolts of his diaphragm, but he gets there. Bit by bit, he regains control of his body.

By the time he has enough to be fully aware of himself, Sebastian feels like shit. Maybe he should have expected he’d lose his composure at some point after everything, but he could have at least done that alone in his room. Instead, Kurt bore the brunt of it.

There’s a dull ache in his throat, matching the one in his head, that make it hard to piece together some kind of an apology. Or an excuse.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says, before he can get there. “I know I’m sticking my nose where it’s not wanted, I just-- we’re both transfer students, you know? Sometimes I get the feeling we have more in common than either of us would like to admit.”

Sebastian knows the same outline as everybody else about Kurt. He moved from some run-down public school in the middle of his junior year because apparently, government funding won’t stretch to anything more effective than a couple anti-bullying posters. Sebastian is sure the details are more upsetting, and even he has a degree of empathy for that. Still, there’s a key difference between them.

“It was your choice, wasn’t it?” Sebastian asks. “Your transfer?”

“Technically, yes,” Kurt answers, averting his gaze. Sebastian can tell he’s touched a nerve. “Although that’s like saying I chose getting a vaccine over polio.”

There’s an opening for a joke there - something about how he’s being dramatic, public schools are bad but aside from the asbestos, they’re not life-threatening. Sebastian ignores it. Kurt still hasn’t ridiculed him for losing his damn mind just a moment ago, and there’s an unmistakable flicker of fear in his expression.

Maybe they really do have something in common, Sebastian thinks. He settles for a quick roll of his eyes, like it’ll shake the notion off.

“You wouldn’t tell me if I asked why you’re here, would you?”

Sebastian’s body goes rigid, petrified, and it heightens the residual ache from his panic. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I feel like nobody has,” Kurt answers, and as uncomfortably accurate as it is, he’s just glad he isn’t being pressed for a response. Their eyes meet, and there’s a silent exchange of understanding. An unsaid  _ ‘okay, I won’t go there.’  _ Kurt’s lips twitch into a smile. “Besides-- as much as you like to make fun of me for the stick up my ass, you’ve clearly got something lodged up yours.”

Sebastian can’t really muster a laugh, but he relaxes. He needs that - he’s comfortable when he can fall back on his snark.

“Please. You don’t know a thing about me. I had the best life.”

“Had?”

The way Kurt echoes him is uncomfortably serious. Too curious, too concerned.

“Yes, that’s what I said, and no, I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, with an air of finality Kurt’s just going to have to expect. Then, just to give himself some reprieve, “move along, Dr. Phil.”

“How dare you,” Kurt frowns, so deeply that Sebastian worries he’s poked an old wound. He’s just about to ask if Kurt was actually on that nightmare show at some point when he adds, “I’ll never go bald.”

The tension breaks, and Sebastian snorts. He can’t help it. It hurts his throat a little, but then Kurt laughs too, and it’s worth it. It brings about a moment of calm, and once it passes, Sebastian is comfortable enough to ask one of the questions on his mind.

“I didn’t really break Blaine’s nose, did I?” 

“No,” Kurt shakes his head, with a poorly-restrained smile. “And-- no offence, but you’re both dumbasses for thinking so. Thad’s injury is a little more serious - his elbow’s dislocated - but honestly? I don’t think it’s anything you’d be expelled over.”

Sebastian nods slowly. When Kurt sounds so sure of it he can’t help believing him - but he’s not sure what he wants. There’s a vague recollection of a plan in his head, plane tickets and hotel rooms and a long, anxious wait for his birthday, and it sounds like more stress than it’s worth. Why force himself back into a place he isn’t wanted anymore?

Would he be doing the same by staying at Dalton?

Until he knows, he’s going to have to deal with this unhelpful, non-directional sense of dread. It’s not like he isn’t used to keeping things contained - even with Kurt in the picture now, trying to deduce his problems out of him.

He leaves his rumination to find Kurt still watching him, the cogs whirring so hard in his mind that Sebastian can hear them. He feels a chill - he can’t imagine a worse nightmare than somebody knowing exactly what he’s thinking.

“I want you to meet me in the cafeteria after you’re done in there,” Kurt says - it’s one calculated step back from just deciding that’s what’s going to happen, all on his own. It makes Sebastian itch.

“No,” he says, just to make that feeling go away. In the split second between him making the sound and Kurt trying to hide its impact, he feels awful for it. Kurt went out on a limb for  _ his  _ sake for the hundredth time in the span of an hour, and Sebastian shut him down. Why did he do that? Why does he keep doing that? It’s almost like he’s developing a conscience.

He could try  _ not  _ doing that. Would that feel less awful?

“Just-- not  _ today, _ ” he amends, much to Kurt’s visible confusion. “After the principal’s through with me, I get the feeling I’m really going to need a nap.”

Kurt smiles.

(Seeing it has no right feeling as good as it does.)

Right on cue to lead him from that dangerous path, an administrator pokes her head through the office’s door. “Sebastian Smythe?”

Sebastian looks at Kurt, caught between apologising and thanking him. He probably owes him plenty of both. Instead of waiting around for it, Kurt stands, and sets a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m not going to pretend this isn’t going to suck, Sebastian. It will - but can I give you some advice?” Kurt asks, and Sebastian nods. “Just this once? Be honest.”

Before he lets go, it squeezes. It’s a firm, but meaningful touch - like he’s pushing all those loose pieces of Sebastian back together. Sebastian watches him walk away, wondering how he’s real, how he learned to be so patient.

He’ll never get there, he thinks. He’s never going to be the bigger person, handing out compassion in spades to the people who’ve wronged him the most. Benevolence will never suit him.

When he reaches the door, he still doesn’t know how he wants to feel when he leaves. He just knows he won’t be able to forgive himself if he offers up anything less than the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> 2 in 1 week! I forgot how much I loved this series. This title was prompted by one of my dearest friends irl, so even though she won't actually read this, thank you Emily! And now that I'm up to date on these prompts, keep an eye out on my Tumblr (Alphabees-writes) if you'd like to suggest the next one! I imagine I'll be opening that up again soon!


End file.
